She has grown quite weary of the night. The sleepy quiet and the cold intimacy that she’s formed with the darkness has become heavy, like thick black honey that is taken for medication. The velvet purple cape that Night wears majestically around his shoulders and the dull stars that adorned it revealed itself to be moth eaten and stale. It covered everything in a blanket of gray ashes and dust.

Being a nocturnal creature means that they can never see the morning sun and yet, they yearn for the sweeter taste of the plum stained sky.